


Hobbits Aren't Meant For War

by SophieTheCookie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, But mostly fluff, Cuddling, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, the relationship between thorin and bilbo can also be seen as friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieTheCookie/pseuds/SophieTheCookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle of the five armies, Bilbo didn't spend that much time in his rooms. They're too big and he couldn't sleep there when he tried to. So, one particular night he has an idea that carries him out of his bedroom and off to the royal wing of the lonely mountain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hobbits Aren't Meant For War

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys… I’m a bit nervous about this. But I proudly present you my first bagginshield fanfiction. It’s also my first attempt to write a story in english, so if you find any mistakes, I would feel honored if you would report them.  
> The idea completely belongs to just-a-tea-for-me on tumblr who sent a lovely ask to baggvinshield.   
> I originally posted this fic on tumblr a few months ago, but since I finally managed to create an account on AO3 I thought might as well post it here too. 
> 
> hope you'll enjoy it!

Bilbo turned around again, eyeing the wall of a room, that was far too big for a hobbit as small as him. He couldn’t help but feel even smaller than he actually was, curling up and trying to hold himself together. The hobbit closed his eyes in another attempt to fall asleep, only to jerk them open again and he tried to breathe more air to wipe out the knot that had built in his throat yet again at the sight of the lifeless body that seemed to hunt him down ever since he had first laid his eyes on it.

Only a few weeks had passed since the dwarves reclaimed their home and fought in the great battle against orcs, side by side with elves and men. And Bilbo couldn’t sleep. In the first few nights he had gotten medicine from Oin that basically forced him into some blissfully dreamless rest, but his injuries healed and there was no longer a reason for such medical treatment.   
Only a few weeks had passed since he had found the body of the dwarven king, cold and closer to death than to life. He remembered Thorins pale face, the deep cuts all over his body, the blood and, oh, his hands were so red as he tried to save what could be saved. Sometimes he could still see it, running down his arms, his fingers and ruining his clothes. And Bilbo couldn’t wash it away, he tried, but it didn’t work.  
Only a few weeks had passed since he did everything to keep that beating of Thorins heart going. When the others found them, they carried him away, even though he didn’t want it, even though he screamed at them, because how would Thorins heart keep beating if he wasn’t there to take care of his wounds. How could he be sure that Thorin wouldn’t be alone with his heart when he woke up, if Bilbo wasn’t there to watch over him.

The hobbit wanted to burry his head in his pillow, he wanted to cry and to scream, but he did none of that. Thorin had recovered. He was well, safe and sound in the kings chambers.   
The idea rose in Bilbos head before he could stop it, and after what seemed like an hour he finally gave in. He shivered at the cold air in the hallway, but his feet carried him safely all the way to Thorins quarters. For a few seconds he stood in front of the door, unsure of what to do. Should he knock? He didn’t want to bother the dwarf with his pointless, foolish fears, or worse: make him laugh at Bilbo.   
He decided to check if he could hear anything and pressed his right ear gently against the dark wood. Nothing.   
A shiver crawled up his spine and he felt as if someone dropped ice into his stomach, when he suddenly heard steps coming closer from around the corner of the hallway. In the upwelling panic, unable to think, he just jerked the door open and slid into the dark room as quietly as he could. It took Bilbo a few moments to see something in the darkness, but when he finally could, he recognized that Thorin wasn’t there. The hobbit froze and held his breath for a moment, while he repeated he’s alive, you saw him, you had dinner together, to himself over and over again.   
A sudden crack, coming from the closed door, made Bilbo jump and - again - panic. Desperate he searched for a possibility to hide and slid into a tall wardrobe next to him. And not a second to late, for the door swung open the moment he burried himself in soft blankets that lay on the bottom of the closet. In came Thorin, muttering something under his breath and alive. Warmth and a peace that Bilbo couldn’t find before now washed over him and his tense muscles relaxed at the sounds of the dwarven king. It didn’t take long for Thorin to change into his nightgrown and Bilbo had to withstand the sudden urge to come out of his hideout to see the king and touch him to make sure he actually was there. Instead he curled up and hid deeper in the blankets. And to the soft sounds of Thorins steady breathing and constant humming, Bilbo could finally find sleep.

For the first time in what seemed like ages, the hobbit woke up and actually felt rested. His neck was a bit stiff but beside that he felt… alright. He repeated his actions when he went to bed this night. And the next night. And the one after that. Days passed and Bilbo fell asleep to the sounds of Thorin being there and living, and he woke up when the king was long gone. He still had that deep urge to touch the dwarf every night and to his own displeasure the feeling was growing steadily into an almost overwhelming need. But Bilbo was not a fool nor weak and he didn’t want to show how desperate and afraid he sometimes still felt. Not yet. 

Tonight was hard. Bilbos day was exhausting and he felt tired and weary. He usually stayed awake until Thorin came in, because the sight of his limp body was still there and he just couldn’t sleep alone anymore. Despite that, sleep claimed him a few minutes after he lay down and curled up - for the first time in two weeks without the kings soft sounds. 

When Bilbo woke, it was to the smell of blood and burned flesh. He heard distant screams but around him was silence, so thick that he could almost touch it. His eyes fluttered open and the sky he saw was blue and grey. And there were moving dots - birds he concluded. Really big birds. He sat up and his head throbbed at the sudden movement.   
“The eagles…”, Bilbo breathed out and looked around puzzeld, as he tried to find out where exactly he was. Nobody else was here, but some dead bodies of orcs and dwarves, heavy beneath a thick layer of smoke and ashes and blood. The lonely hobbit stood up and tried to wander around, the questions of his whereabouts rattling in his brain. His temples still ached terribly and he felt so worn out. But there was something he had to do. He couldn’t quite remember what, but it was important and made his chest and heart heavy. Bilbo choked on dirty air at the sudden weight he seemed to carry. Everything was so wrong, so terribly out of place and sharp, breathtaking panic began to rise. He stumbled around and searched for something, someone familiar. He found it not five minutes later, surrounded by and soaked in red and black liquid. The raven hair made his bloodless face even more pale and Bilbo felt as if someone had punched him in the gut, all the air in his lungs escaping. He wanted to faint at the sight of the limp body of his friend, his shoulders somehow narrow without the familiar fur coat. He broke at the sight of blue eyes, open and distant, looking at something Bilbo could not see.  
By the next time he tried to breath, he stood next to Thorin, his legs barely able to hold him. It was shaky and more like a watery sob than a breath. The air still smelled of battle but with something achingly familiar Bilbo was sure he imagined. His stomach twisted and he fell sidewards, his arms catching him as he vomited on the ground. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted everything to stop. He reached for the dwarfs hand and suddenly everything began to shake, his sight blurring and somehow slipping away. He tried to hold onto the cold hand but a dreadful force was pulling him away. 

Strong hands gripped his upper arms and Bilbo’s eyes flew open, his head still throbbing and his whole body cramped.  
“Bilbo, what on earth are you doing in here?”, came a deep voice full of worry and urgency, alongside shock and a hint of tiredness. But the hobbit knew the voice, he would have recognized it anytime and the words were enough to snap him out of his delirium.   
“Thorin, I…”, began Bilbo, his voice not more than a whisper afraid to break the moment. He had to touch Thorin, he had to feel his heartbeat and make sure the dark sceneries from before were nothing more than a ghost. But he just gipped the kings forearms, his fingers shaking and his head spinning.  
The dwarf let out a frustrated sigh and pulled the hobbit closer while slowly wrapping his arms around the small creature. Bilbo leaned into the warmth around him and pressed his right ear to Thorins chest, right above his beating heart.   
“Mahal, you’re shaking like a leaf.”, Thorin breathed into Bilbos soft locks and his baritone vibrated pleasantly in his torso. The hobbit still tried to catch his breath and nuzzled deeper into the embrace. He was downright clutching the dwarf, holding on as if his life was depending on it. They stayed like this for a few more minutes and the king, despite being perfectly confused, began to hum a soft melody. Bilbo calmed down slowly at the sound of the steady thump-thump beneath his ear and Thorins smooth voice.   
When they finally let go of each other, realization dropped into the hobbits brain like freshly melted water - cold and clear.   
“Sorry…”, he mumbled, unable to look into the piercing blue eyes of his opponent.  
“Don’t be”, came the answer and Thorin searched Bilbos face for some sort of explanation or signs of relapse.   
“It’s just…”, the hobbit tried, flushing at the thought of what he had to admit now.  
“What?” Unlike his expectations Thorins voice was understanding and… caring? Bilbo looked up at the unfamiliar sound, only to see that the kings look was soft and curious. He took a deep shaky breath and said: “I can’t sleep, Thorin. Well, alone that is.”, he swallowed, “I see… things when I close my eyes and when I somehow finally get some rest, I have, well, nightmares. I… I didn’t know what to do.”  
“Why didn’t you say anything?”  
“I-I… was afraid, I guess… I mean, it seems a bit ridiculus, right? I faced a dragon after all! And I fought orcs! And still, I’m just… me, a hobbit, not made for war and adventures.”  
“Bilbo-”  
“I see you all, you know. The whole company. Fili and Kili and… you. Dead, I mean. I dreamed I lost you. And sometimes it is as if… as if you never survived.”  
His voice broke and his fists clenched, grasping whatever fabric they could reach.  
“Listen.”, Thorin spoke after a few seconds and took Bilbos left hand in his own, guiding it to his chest, right where Bilbos ear had been just a few moments ago. “I am here. We all are, and I promise you that we won’t go anywhere anytime soon.”  
"You… you don’t understand, I know-”  
“After the dragon came and… took Erebor I had trouble sleeping. And it was… not easy, not at all.”, Thorin rubbed his face in a sort of frustrated gesture. “What I’m saying is… I know how you feel and I think I can help you.”  
Bilbo looked up at him for a moment and blinked.  
"How?”, he asked desperatly and gazed at his hand, still intertwined with Thorins, whose shoulders slumped at the question.  
“We’ll figure something out. Come.”  
And with that the king pulled the burglar to his feet and led him to the large bed. They lay down, hands still holding and Thorin pulled the blanket over them. It felt a bit awkward at first, but he pulled Bilbo closer, embracing him, arms wrapping tightly around the small figure. ‘Like a safety blanket…’, Bilbo thought and nuzzled lazily into the dwarfs warmth. And for the first time in a long while, the hobbit felt… good. 

It wouldn’t always be alright. Nightmares would come and fear would settle in his heart. This wasn’t a fairy tail after all. ‘Way to many dwarves for that’, Bilbo would think later and almost laugh about it. But he wasn’t alone. And whenever bad dreams would bother him, Thorin was there, his heartbeat and soft humming being the best proof that he was in fact, still there.


End file.
